I let my nails grow.
I paint them with the pixie dust that fall from the fairies in my backyard.
I want to speak, but I learned a few things.
If I’m silent like a mouse, my hearing becomes sharper
And I’ll learn better than the mouth who hunts
all at once.

I let my grays grow.
I allow them their passage within my black strands like ornamental streamers
For they retell the wisdom that teaches how darkness beds with the light.
Do you like absence?
It’s where we find ourselves, stark and naked
built like the sacred nature of trees.

The world is beautiful,
but they didn’t tell you this because they wanted to ruin it for you too.
The black magic of which we fight against.
A mashed-up world of thoughts and identities hide in the crisis
Of the bloodstream from all the things you were told, you believed you were not.

How can I tell you the world is beautiful?
We learn to appreciate it late. The wind, water, the rocks,
And the soil are boundless in a way where we can’t measure on earth
’til we leave this place. But, until then, let’s love the world today.

Before the love of writing started I began with reading lots and lots of books – all kinds really. Then for a few years came book reports. I enjoyed breaking down a story as well as making drawings for the report cover, particularly as a way to stand out from the rest of the classmates. After book reports I started to write around the age of 9.

I wrote short stories back then, mostly horror because my family was big on watching horror films and I needed an outlet for my reoccurring nightmares. So I wrote and wrote and each time I felt my heart become more and more alive. I remember I enjoyed writing not just because I felt full of life, but because all my teachers said I was good at it. And whenever someone gave me constructive criticism I was determined to get better. Eventually I won a writing medal at elementary school because of that attitude.

In Junior High I would go on to write graded screenplays for the entire class to act out on. By seventh grade I turned my attention to deeper writing like journaling and confessional poetry and during this time short stories were put on hold (and for the most part still is) as my writing began to take on a form of therapy. With being a loner and feeling like an outcast from family and school, I learned to create friendships with my writing. Then in later years, I learned about blogging.

So, even though I wouldn’t change a thing, it wasn’t until very recent that I realized I tend to write predominantly when I’m feeling glum (manic), bitter, displeased, enraged or dispirited. Then of course there are the feelings of when I’m hyped, full of mania (highs) and excitability with huge shots of adrenaline when I train before, during or after. Once in a blue I write when I’m happy, obsessive or in love too, but my heart lies with writing sorrow first. So what’s the dilemma?

One dilemma is I believe I’ve limited myself to writing with and/or about certain emotions, so when I’m actually happy I find it difficult to write or get inspired to write.

During the time I was on a mood-stabilizing pill I stopped writing for 3 months completely (which is absurd), not just because it changed my persona to a degree, but because I had less bipolar episodes, less sadness, less excitability, less highs and lows. I was somewhere in the middle, but not quite. I wasn’t necessarily happy, but wasn’t necessarily sad. Maybe neutral? But it made it difficult to find any drive to write. Now, I’m trying to come up with solutions and creative ways to write about anything and everything to push myself over the boundaries I’ve created.

The second dilemma aside from finding inspiration through negative tone emotions is I started working on a book (a novel). But, the problem for me is I stopped writing short stories decades ago, so I doubt my abilities since I’ve been out of practice. Writing in narrative, I find to be more difficult than say, writing a poem, prose or a blog. This is another challenge I’ve been trying to work on AND I’m open to suggestions from anyone who is kind enough to share.